


Met By Moonlight

by AnnaMcb24



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Derogatory Language, I will only spell Bridget's name like Brigitte Helm, Summer Camp, also lots of Midsummer Night's Dream references, brace yourself for madness, but not a lot, inspired by Moonrise Kingdom, teens and preteens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaMcb24/pseuds/AnnaMcb24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a summer in Vermont...</p><p>When Smitty Utivich is found beaten unconscious in the no-man's-land between the Camp Kavod and Camp Honor sites, the Kavod scouts are ready to take revenge on the most likely suspect: Hans Landa--who is also being targeted by one Shoshanna Dreyfus, for the attack on her younger brother.</p><p>And meanwhile, Archie, one of the newest campers at Kavod, has fallen in love with Brigitte von Hammersmarck, daughter of Camp Honor's scout master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Met By Moonlight

> “ _Ill **met by moonlight** , proud Titania_.”

—William Shakespeare, _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , Act II, Scene 1.

 

She’s still wearing her fairy costume when Archie finds her, leaning against a pine tree with a cigarette in her mouth. She’s definitely the girl from the stage—the single scene from the Fourth of July Variety Act. Her dress is all rosy gauze and white sequins. She’s not wearing the white cap with the ostrich-feather she’d had on before, but her hair is curling down past her shoulders, still glittery and shining like platinum. Her face is painted pink and gold, her lips bright red.

Smoke spirals from her lips, like the curls of her hair. She’s looking at him, careful and guarded without shoes on.

Archie hesitates, his heart pounding. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. His neckerchief is suddenly tied much too tightly. _She’s going to laugh at him_. He inhales deeply.

“Who are you?” he asks in almost a whisper. In the half-light of dusk, her face is illuminated almost solely by the cigarette in between her lips.

A cloud of smoke obscures her face. “Peaseblossom,” she says, her voice low and quiet. “Who are you?” she asks, her eyes clear through the smoke.

“Archie,” he says. He hates his accent for a moment—so obviously _not_ American. She tilts her head.

A crack. A whistle.

“I’m Brigitte,” she says mischievously.

The sky explodes with sparks.

 

_August, 1967_

“And then, _bam!_ _Crack! Fwooooosh!_ The ball goes flyin’ right outta the park and then, suddenly, all these girls—like a friggen _tidal wave_ of girls— _crash_ onto the diamond from the stands and throw themselves at me and they’re all, ‘Oh! Donny! Donny!’ and—”

“Everyone knows you’re full of shit, Donny!”

“Shut up, Omar!”

A fight starts. Archie glances at Aldo to see if he’s going to make any move to break it up, but he methodically turns his marshmallow over the flames of the campfire, ensuring it cooks evenly. Wilhelm watches the fight with a vague sort of interest, chewing loudly on his “s’more”.

Archie doesn’t like marshmallows. They make him gag.

Aldo and Wilhelm are a tag team (along with Donny when he’s not rattling off stories about his greatest baseball achievements or designing catapults). They’re the two oldest in the troop: Aldo is fourteen and Wilhelm is thirteen. Archie’s thirteen too—he’s actually two months older than Wilhelm, but he’s pretty sure no one cares, because, even though Archie’s actually taller than Wilhelm, he’s wiry and skinny and already has a scar in his left eyebrow from Donny hitting him with a rock, while trying to play baseball using “nature”.

Wilhelm is too quiet for Archie to really feel like he understands him, but he does like Aldo a lot. Aldo is tall, but only recently so and his mouth is too big for his face. He’s got thicker hairs coming in on his upper lip and sharp eyes. He reminds Archie of pictures of generals or the face Archie’s dad got when he learned he wouldn’t be able to sing anymore—strong and completely aware of the world. There’s a reason why he’s the troop leader, even though he does things that Archie thinks are a little weird considering how much he curses and how quietly he watches Donny try to rip out a chunk of Omar’s hair. He reads a lot: under his bed are two stacks of books, each stack measuring about a foot or a foot and a half. Archie once slides under the bed on his stomach to look at the titles, unsure of what to expect. He recognises some of them— _Moby Dick_ , _Great Expectations_ , _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ and _A Passage to India_ he knows—but some he doesn’t, like _A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court_ and _Thuvia, Maid of Mars_. Archie wonders sometimes how Aldo can read as much as he does, considering the way he speaks.

Though Archie’s really not one to talk as far as accents are concerned—Aldo and Wilhelm are the only ones that don’t make fun of Archie’s accent, he thinks. He’s not really sure though, because they’re both southern and Archie can’t always understand the pair of them. He’s pretty sure they’re from the same town and it apparently takes them more than a day to drive up to Vermont. Archie finds this weird, but he doesn’t say anything, even when they get in lengthy arguments about people none of the rest of them have ever met, because he’s heard Wilhelm mention that his parents are Austrian and they’re Jewish and Archie’s pretty sure they only came to America _after_ the war—so he’s not sure he wants to say anything that could hurt Wilhelm’s feelings. (It’s even worse because he’s pretty sure that Wilhelm is a little stupid, because whenever he says one of the Jewish words the other campers like to use, he sounds like a Nazi in a film and his spelling is really awful. He doesn’t really talk a lot except to Aldo and spends most of the time staring into space.)

Donny is the third member of the trio, as far as Archie can tell, but he’s very different from Aldo and Wilhelm, because Wilhelm is quiet and Aldo is loud mouthed and uses vocabulary that Archie isn’t sure he understands and Donny is just...

Donny is like a hurricane, a lightning bolt and a power outage.

He seems to be mostly disconnected from Wilhelm and Aldo’s plans and schemes and organisational work, but he’s the engine behind everything. He can start a fire in a minute and a half and talks _constantly_. Hirschberger, who’s eleven and chain smokes and doesn’t seem to have a first name, tells him Donny nearly got held back in school the year before, or that’s what Hirschberger had heard from Omar, who’s Donny’s big-nosed friend, even though they only see each other at camp each summer. Presumably, Omar heard it from Donny, but Donny also likes to talk about all his past girlfriends, but he’s only twelve, so Archie doesn’t really believe most of what he says, even from so indirect a source.

He’s a complete source of energy though, unflagging and unwavering. Even the time they get lost hiking and Aldo is cursing at his compass and Smitty Utivich, who’s only ten, looks ready to start crying, Donny pushes through, bare legs bleeding from being scratched with thorns, and _he_ leads them back to the campsite, half-supporting Aldo, who’s bleeding from the neck (he’d fallen down a slope into a hawthorn tree and Counselor Sol had to call the hospital upon their return). Donny’s not even “a force to be reckoned with”, as Archie’s mother likes to say—he’s just a force.

He also arrives at the camp five minutes after Archie, who’s just been introduced to Aldo by the scoutmaster, and yells, “ _Guess who had his bar mitzvah_!” And within seconds all the other boys from the troop have piled on top of him, all yelling their congratulations and Archie has no idea what’s going on. (This happens with a lot of the boys who arrive, actually, and it makes Archie feel just a little bit lonely.)

Archie’s catholic, one of the five catholics who have been sent by their parents to the Kavod Boys’ Camp, located an hour from Battleboro, Vermont—one of the top Jewish-focused boys’ scout camps on the east coast of the United States.

Archie is pretty sure his parents just wanted him out of the new house so they could settle in the baby.

Omar is in a headlock now and Donny is holding him precariously close to the campfire.

“You do _not_ interrupt me, Omar!” Donny’s yelling and Archie thinks he looks frighteningly savage and sweaty and he just really doesn’t understand Donny or why Donny is there or why anyone even talks to him because he’s obviously got all the etiquette of a feral cat. Donny turns to Aldo, his face burning with pride. “Tell him not to interrupt me, Aldo.”

“Donny, let go of Omar,” Aldo says and Donny drops him. Omar stumbles away.

“I’ll interrupt all I want when you’re full of shit!”

“Do I have to teach you a _lesson_ , Omar? Do you _want_ me to kick your ass again?”

“You’re a schmuck.”

“No, _you’re_ a schmuck!”

Archie pulls out a graham cracker from the box by Aldo’s feet and slips away while they’re arguing, almost tripping over Smitty Utivich as he leaves.

 

Archie doesn’t have a lot of things in his tent. He has a small cot which is actually a little short for him and a lamp that’s supposed to not attract bugs but it does anyway. He has his spare uniform shirt and his torch and they sit next to the lamp.

Hidden under his mattress are three boxes: one, an old cigar box containing his collection of lobby cards and movie stills he’s cut out from magazines—one, a box of stationary his mother gave him.

He has ten pieces of paper left and ten envelopes.

He’s written one letter to his parents.

The third box is another cigar box, so full of letters it’s hard to close now.

It contains just five letters from his mother.

 

_July 31 st_

_Dear Archie,_

_I don’t think your accent is stupid and it’s mean of the other boys to make fun of you. They’re probably jealous. My mom says people act like jerks when they’re jealous. They probably know that your accent is handsome and they want to be handsome too, but they aren’t._

_Dad is mad at me because I said that what he said about Camp Kavod was bullshit. I don’t mind. He’s always angry so it doesn’t make much difference what I say. I don’t think it’s fair what he says about Jews because I don’t see a lot of difference between the boys at Kavod and the boys here. You all seem pretty gross to me. Ha ha!_

_Thank you for sending me the photo of Rock Hudson. I keep it with your letters and the other pictures so Dad won’t see._

_I wish I could stay at Camp Kavod._

_Love,_

_Brigitte_

 

_July 10th_

_Dear Brigitte,_

_I’m sorry your mum is on vacation and you can’t stay at home. I don’t think your dad’s camp is very liked here. Our Troop Leader, Aldo [Ranes] Raines, complains about them a lot. Especially “Lander”, I think. I guess they’re enemies._

_But I think that we can still write to each other. I think they mostly hate them because practically everyone here is a Jew and the scouts there have been rude about it sometimes. I think they won’t mind because you’ve not said anything about hating Jews._

_My main hobby is watching films. I really like them. I also like reading reviews about films or looking at pictures from them. I have a collection of pictures from films actually. If you ever want a photo of anyone you should ask me because I probably have one. I have a picture from practically every film ever made. My favourite film is probably_ D.O.A.. _I think it’s a very good film._

_I think you are a very good actress. I think you could be a film star._

_-Archie_

 

Archie really doesn’t see what the fuss is about Camp Honor for his whole first week of camping. He sees them sometimes, because their camp is in the field right next to Camp Kavod’s. He actually thinks they seem much better than the Kavod scouts: their uniforms are clean, their faces are washed and they aren’t quite so _weird_ _looking_ as the Kavod scouts, like Omar, who’s sort of ugly in Archie’s opinion, or Donny, whose eyes remind Archie of the way people look when they’re hypnotised in _Tintin and the Seven Crystal Balls_.

Actually the oldest Honor scout—the troop leader, who Archie learns is named Hans Landa—looks like he could be a film star. He’s blond, with a long, well-shaped jaw and green eyes. He’s tall also, but not overly so. His nose is a little odd, almost cartoonish, but it doesn’t detract from his other features. The first time Archie sees him, he actually wonders if there’s a film being shot in town. And then there’s another one, with gingery-brown hair and dark eyes and strongly marked features. He’s younger, but Archie could imagine him rivaling Rock Hudson in a couple years. The only odd-looking one amongst them is this boy with really pale eyes and no eyebrows and even he’s not _unattractive_.

But then, one morning, he’s up early because it’s his and Donny’s turn to make breakfast for their troop (he has to listen to Donny for half an hour: “ _You see right before I left, my girlfriend said that she wanted us to get married and I just don’t know if I’m ready to ready to get married. I mean, she is sixteen and that’s when my mom got married but I don’t have a job yet or anyway to provide for her. Not like I don’t have any money because my dad is actually really super rich because he has these jewels he took with him when he and my mom left Europe. They had to sneak out, you know? And this English guy helped them out and he was a spy—like James Bond only not James Bond—because my dad was super important in Poland and so they really wanted to get him out of there—and all the jewels because my dad used to make tiaras for the Queen of England. My mom used to be a beauty queen in Europe too. Only in Russia because that’s where she first came from and then she came to Poland and married my dad—but she actually came up with the idea of going to America because she’d seen a game of baseball on TV and she thought, ‘Woah! That sport is so friggen neat! I should go there!’ Of course you don’t really get how neat baseball is, but it really is incredible. It’s the best sport ever._ ”). The campfire is up next to the fence that divides the two fields and Archie doesn’t even notice that one of the Honor scouts (the one with the pale eyes) has snuck up behind them until he says:

“’Morning, kike.”

It takes a lot to stop Donny from launching himself over the fence. The pale-eyed boy just laughs and wanders away, giving Archie a mock salute before he goes. Donny finally manages to jerk away from Archie’s grasp and marches away to the stream, his hands balled into fists, and dunks his head in the water.

Archie watches hesitantly as Donny stomps back. The skin around his eyes is red. His collar and neckerchief are both soaked now, water dripping from his nose and chin. He’s silent until the rest of the troop marches over after morning inspection when he shouts to Aldo:

“Guess what one of the Honor dicks called me today?”

And “the enemy” is the topic of discussion for the rest of that morning. Halfway through breakfast, Donny chooses to recount the story of one of Wilhelm’s scars—a small, pale one near his hairline—in Wilhelm’s presence, which Archie finds strange and rude, because Wilhelm looks obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

“They threw rocks at him,” Donny explains, his hair still wet and curly. “Well, that dipshit, Landa, specifically—and seriously all he was doing was just taking a leak in the corner of the field one evening and they started throwing friggen _rocks_. And they did the same thing to me once too, see?” He pointed to a small scar on his cheekbone. “They’re friggen crazy and they’re all assholes and that’s why they’re not worth my time or anyone else’s.”

Even though Archie thinks Donny’s crazy and that most of the Kavod scouts are annoying and rude and unattractive, he’s never seen anything that seems like they would deserve having rocks thrown at them. And the Honor scouts go out of their way to bother the Kavod scouts.

And Hans Landa looks considerably less like a film star when he flicks matches at Aldo while he’s trying to teach Smitty Utivich to tie knots.

 

_August 2 nd_

_Dear Archie,_

_Landa keeps bothering me and touching the back of my neck. I told him to get away but he keeps talking to me and it’s very [anoying] annoying. I’m glad you don’t like him either. I think he’s mean and spoiled._

_I wish more boys were like you. You’re nice and I like that you ask what I think about things. You’re also not spoiled or annoying._

_I’m studying some new monologues, but Dad keeps interrupting me and so do the scouts. I don’t like it here. I feel like if you and I could be together, things would be okay. I think one day, we should buy a apartment together in a city and I can act in plays and things and you can make movies or watch movies. You’re nice._

_Love,_

_Brigitte_

 

It’s not Archie who brings him back.

It’s not Aldo or Wilhelm or Donny either.

It’s Hirschberger who comes back to the field at around five in the morning on Saturday, long before any of the rest of them are awake. (They sleep in on Saturdays and they don’t cook anything and it’s basically like a little holiday. Archie likes Saturdays.) He’s half-hunched over, stumbling under the weight of the other scout.

Wilhelm is the first one to react to his shout for help, sticking his head out of his tent before bolting across the field towards them. (Wilhelm runs faster than anyone else. He’s got long legs.)

Donny’s next, then Aldo. By the time Archie half-falls out of his own tent, they’ve become a small crowd.

And in the middle is Smitty Utivich, who’s only ten and whose nose has been smashed into his face, blood pouring down his chin, soaking into his collar and neckerchief.

 

_August 5 th_

_Dear Brigitte,_

_You won’t believe what’s happened._


	2. Demographics of Vertide, Vermont

Shoshanna does not suffer fools.

She read the phrase in a book once, when she and Marcel were at the lake. They take turns: one person reads aloud while the other builds sandcastles or throws rocks and shells into the water. She’s never found a phrase or sentence more able to describe her feelings towards the world, which is full of idiots and jerks and other people who hate for no good reason.

That’s why she likes Marcel—because he’s dark and handsome and has been her best friend since they were four years old and he doesn’t care she’s Jewish and she doesn’t care he’s black. (A lot of other people cared, though, except her mother, who stands fast to her artisan roots in Paris.) They’ve been neighbors since his family moved from France to America. Her family is French too, even though her last name is Dreyfus, which doesn’t sound very French in her opinion, and she speaks French with him a lot under the willow tree behind her house.

Sometimes they speak English. Not usually though.

What’s funny is that no one in town bothers trying to separate them anymore. Granted any attempts to break apart the two of them were vague and Shoshanna’s mother worked hard to keep all such attempts away from her and Marcel. And granted, Vertide, Vermont has a fairly sizable Jewish population (especially in the summer, when the boys from Camp Kavod pour in) and enough Catholics for a small church, but the majority is Lutheran and the black population is maybe Marcel’s family and one other family. But people seem to get riled up about her and Marcel about once a year and then they forget because Shoshanna’s mother threatens to quit her job and the cinema is one of the biggest resources for the town. Still, some of the older residents tend to be somewhat old fashioned about such things as well. Or backwards, even.

Shoshanna still hasn’t forgiven the police force. She doesn’t care how important the Landa family is in town, how rich they are even though the father just owns a tackle shop—there should’ve been much more justice than there was.

And she still has to bike past that tackle shop everyday on her way to school.

But no one bothers Shoshanna and Marcel anymore because everyone feels sorry for her and they all think she could use any friends at “this difficult time” and they all know that Shoshanna has two friends: her eldest sister, who’s left to go to school, and Marcel.

She’s also sort of pretty (according to Marcel) and her being blonde makes her much more pitiable to most of the people in town.

And she still has to bike past that tackle shop everyday on her way to school.

But once the summer starts, there’s no buffer of teachers and school rules between her and Hans Landa.

She’s got a plan.

 

Amos is little for his age—little and blond. He used to be very outspoken as well and loud and Shoshanna sometimes wished she didn’t have a little brother so he wouldn’t run around the house all the time. Shoshanna is by no means a quiet person, nor is she unopinionated or obnoxious when she wants to be. She also has trouble sitting still for long periods and prefers to be outside than inside.

But Amos was just annoying about it and there was a difference. He didn’t do anything while running around. She got things done—like the secret tree house she and Marcel have in the woods behind the Catholic church that she built with him two summers ago. But Amos is bad at building things and he just likes to knock stuff down or tear the blankets off her bed and she just thinks he’s spoiled.

But Amos isn’t loud anymore. And he doesn’t run around the house. He’s not even in the house and hasn’t been for six months.

Amos is seven and he’s been in the hospital for the last six months.

And even though he’s improving and last time she came with her parents to visit him, he spoke a little and she cried in the hallway—even though he laughed at one of her uncle’s jokes last time he was there visiting—even though there’s not going to be too much “long term damage”—

None of that matters.

Because he’s seven and he’s never going to tear the blankets from her bed again. And the doctors say he’s not going to run again. He’ll walk. He’ll talk. He’ll read and write. He’s not stupid now and he’s not crippled. But his knee caps are smashed and those injuries don’t really heal properly, according to the doctor. Not ever.

And she hates Hans Landa, who beat up her brother with his friends and chased him into the road. And no one found Amos until Solomon and Ariella Rose drove past in their convertible and found Amos on the ground, unconscious.

She hates Hans Landa.

 

She comes up with the plan on the last day of school, sitting in the tree house with Marcel. They have her family’s old projector there—the one they had to replace because the bulb burned out and got stuck. She and Marcel fixed it together and they have a collection of Super 8 reels (mostly Charlie Chaplin films and a couple home movies Shoshanna has stolen from the house) that they keep in a chest that Shoshanna’s sister used to keep her dolls in.

It’s a hot afternoon and she’s still wearing her school skirt, but she’s already yanked off her stockings. Her mother has strict beliefs about how children dress for school and they all involve skirts and stockings. Even in the summer. Even when it’s eighty-seven degrees out. Marcel’s parents have a bit more of a concept of what summer is, but since it was the final day, he has a tie stuffed in the pocket of his trousers that he wore to school and then untied in the parking lot.

She tugs a splinter out of her thigh and watches the images flicker across the wall of the tree house. They’ve tacked black-dyed sheets over the walls to block light. The space smells a little moldy and she thinks they should probably replace the sheet soon. They really should’ve taken it down that fall.

It’s a little stifling—especially with the heat of the projector—but at least she’s not wearing her stockings anymore.

She can hear distant shouts of kids as Marcel talks about how he wants to go to the beach that summer like he does every summer, but both their families are... Well. Neither of them are poor. It’s just that Shoshanna’s father works at a dairy farm and her mother is a projectionist at the local cinema and Marcel’s parents aren’t much better off: his father is a photographer and his mother writes poetry. And they aren’t poor, either of the families. It’s just...

Well, they’re not rich enough for the beach.

Marcel stops as the shouting gets louder. It’s probably some of the local boys—the Lutheran ones—coming to deface the Catholic church. She glances towards him and he presses his lips together and shakes his head.

Slowly, she creeps toward the entrance to the tree house and looks down. She can see the group of boys, still wearing their school clothes, bicycles discarded in the grass around the church. A couple are just kicking at the grout between the stones and one is lighting up a cigarette and digging through his backpack for a can of spray paint, which seems dangerous to Shoshanna.

And then there’s the tallest of their group who’s blond and has thin, but muscular calves and who talks as though the words have to be vomited up from his slimy, disgusting throat.

And she watches as Dieter, who’s always looked like a worm to her—all pale and slimy—opens the spray paint can, a cigarette still hanging out of his mouth, a face appears just a centimeter from her own.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” he says as she stumbles back. The projector teeters a little, but doesn’t topple. “I hope I didn’t shock you.” He smiles handsomely—all shiny, dark hair and dark eyebrows—and she finds herself feeling a little overheated. And acutely aware of how open her legs are. She snaps her knees together.

“Who are you?” she asks, because there really isn’t anything else to ask.

He smiles more broadly. He’s... He’s pretty cute, actually. He’s got long eyelashes, anyway, and he blushes sweetly every time she looks at him. His nose is small and turns up like a boy in book illustration. His eyes are warm and brown, his lips pink and unchapped.

“I’m Frederick Zoller,” he says. “I moved here back in January. Do you remember?”

She shakes her head because she doesn’t.

He blushes a little again. “Of course—you probably have lots of guys talking to you, right?” She shakes her head again and his eyes widen a little before he recovers from his shock. “I’ve seen you a lot at school. You’re French and I like your dresses and I know your mom works at the movie theater on Main Street.” He looks at her through his lashes. “I’ve always hoped to run into you there.”

Marcel gives a weird, choked laugh and the boy glances back at him. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“Yes.” She’s not really sure how to stop staring at him or why she can’t, but she’s pretty sure that has to do with the way he seems to think he _belongs_ in her and Marcel’s tree house. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says and smiles in such a weirdly sincere way that she sort of wants to throw up.

“Are you with them?” She points toward the church and, for the first time, his smile falters, his brown eyes wider than before.

“Are you a Catholic?” he asks, nervously.

“Marcel is,” she says, jerking her head back towards him. Her braid slaps the back of her own neck. “I’m a Jew.” He swallows hard, his mouth falling open. “Does that bother you, Freddie?”

There’s a moment, then he smiles again. “Of course not!”

Her cheeks feel like she has a sunburn. Her shock has finally melted a bit and has been replaced with a deep, burning anger. Her voice comes out strained as she points to the church once more and says, “Then why are you with _them_?”

Freddie hesitates again before saying, “My father and Mr. Landa are really great—”

“Get _out_!” she snaps and slaps at his hands which are holding onto the edge of the floor. He almost falls, but she grabs his upper arm. Marcel is suddenly at her side as Freddie corrects his grip, looking frightening and suddenly stupid with his red cheeks and shiny, brown hair.

“Listen, Freddie,” she says and it’s the voice she uses on Dieter whenever he tries to steal her pocket money. Freddie’s arm muscles tighten under her grip. “Any friend of Hans Landa’s will _always_ be an enemy of mine and you can come around my mother’s cinema all you want—I would never sit beside you as long as I live.”

She lets go of his arm and his hands are balled into fists and he looks like he wants to hit her, which might explain why Marcel is breathing so hard. She wants to cry a little and leans away from him, wiping off the sweat that’s gathered around her hairline.

“Go away, Freddie,” Marcel says and Freddie looks up at him, still looking angry.

“It’s Frederick, you black asshole!”

And he goes.

And she thinks about the tackle shop.

And, as Marcel mutters, “ _Idiot_!”, she has an idea.

 

Marcel tries to discourage her, but he also doesn’t tell her mother or any of the rest of her family about her plan.

He’s her best friend.

They escape out the window to the tree house, just in case Landa decides he needs to do to her what he (and whoever was driving that car) did to Amos and then they wander up and down Main Street, the projector tucked under her arm and the box of reels under his. Eventually, when the sun is starting to sink low enough in the sky that they can see stars beyond the streetlamps, they start back towards her house—and his house, right next door.

He opens the latch on her gate for her. “I can take the projector for the night,” he offers, his skin warm from the last remains of sunlight. She shakes her head.

“Just hold on to the films. We can take them back tomorrow.”

He nods and his curls bounce a little. She remembers the way they first felt under her fingers when they were little and the way the muscles bunched in his neck as he told Freddie to leave.

“I still think your plan is stupid, by the way,” he tells her. He’s not turned back towards his house yet and she finds herself looking at the orange tiger lilies that are blooming over the fence between their homes. “You don’t need revenge. You should just work on helping Amos.”

If it were anyone else, she probably would’ve started a fight, but she knows Marcel and this is how they talk to each other.

“I can help Amos better if I can give Hans at least a black eye,” she says and he laughs.

“Good night, Shoshanna.”

 

Shoshanna watches the silhouette of Marcel through her window, at the line of his shoulders, a little warped by the curtains through which she sees him.

After a few minutes, she looks away and crawls into bed. She can hear her parents hushed voices down the hall. Her sister will be coming home from school tomorrow. Her room, which is right above the kitchen, smells like pot roast.

When she watches the wall across from her bed, she can see when Marcel turns his light out and goes to sleep too.

 

_July 1967_

Shoshanna buys sixteen roman candles on July first. The man at the store knows her and Marcel a little too well by this point and doesn’t make any fuss, only casually warns her not to aim them at her face.

She isn’t sure why she would do such a thing, but she smiles and promises anyway, making sure to speak a little higher than usual so she sounds sweeter. The man behind the counter rolls his eyes in response.

 

She buys a new summer dress on July fourth—red cotton with little orange piping on it. Her mother insists these are autumn colors, but Shoshanna wants a red dress and eventually she has to resort to the “but Malka gets new clothes all the time” argument. (Shoshanna doesn’t tell her mother it’s because she wants to look like a Wicked Woman in a detective movie, because she doubts her mother would approve of such a style icon.)

She gets her dress and wears it to the Variety Act that evening and the firework display that follows.

Freddie tries to talk to her, but Marcel manages to rush away with her when he’s not looking. Ten minutes later, she and Marcel are by the end of the lake, watching the fireworks and swearing cheerfully.

 

Shoshanna “borrows” her family’s Super 8 camera on July tenth.

The film is developed by the fifteenth.

She and Marcel have edited it by the twentieth.

 

They hit a roadblock on the twenty-second.

And on the twenty-third, Shoshanna waits in the lobby for the Honor scouts to come in for their weekly visit to her mother’s cinema. She’s wearing her whitest blouse and her shorts and she smiles back when Freddie smiles at her.


	3. Are We All Met?

_July 1967_

Archie first arrives at Camp Kavod with his mother and father on July fourth. The counselor, who looks pretty young to Archie— _maybe_ twenty-five years old, but more likely twenty-one or twenty-two—greets his parents with a broad smile and a firm handshake and apologises that the scout master isn’t there to welcome them. He shakes Archie’s hand too, his pale eyes magnified by heavy, old-fashioned glasses.

“It’s great to meet you, Archie,” he says. He sounds like an actor in a film, his voice clear but very American. His hair is well combed and there’s a gold ring on the third finger of his left hand. Its inscription glitters in the sunlight, but Archie can’t tell what it says. “We’re really happy to have you here.” He looks back at Archie’s parents. “There’s actually a Fourth of July celebration in town this evening which we’ll be taking the scouts to, if you want to come.”

The silver in his mother’s hair is highlit by the afternoon sunlight. “Would you like to, George?”

“I think that sounds lovely,” his father answers and Archie blushes because of the way his father whispers, his voice scraping from his throat. The counselor makes no comment, however, but smiles more broadly.

“Great! Well, if you guys want to check out the town, I’m sure there are still a couple shops open and any of the locals will be happy to show you where Vertide Park is.”

Five minutes later, Archie has been introduced to Aldo Raine, who is already too tall for his uniform and his legs are already too long for his body. His mouth looks too big for his face and his lips sit open most of the time, as though he can’t fit his tongue and teeth inside. His eyes seem overfocused, somehow—like he’s trying to do too many things at once. His hair is a mess, but he shakes Archie’s hand and welcomes him to Camp Kavod.

It’s at least better than when Donny is introduced to him, because all he has to say is, “Your name is _Archie_? Like the comics? Cool!”

And within thirty minutes of being at camp, he’s already made a fool of himself, because he asks why Smitty Utivich is wearing a hat and Donny laughs so hard he starts choking.

“Holy shit! Where’d the WASP come from?” Omar asks and Archie tells him to shut his ugly mouth and, by the time he’s been at Camp Kavod for thirty-five minutes, he has a black eye, courtesy of Donny Donowitz.

 

An hour later, they’re all sitting together on the grass in front of a make-shift stage. Apparently Vertide has a tradition of a Fourth of July Variety Act, featuring one of the highest-pitched sopranos he’s ever heard. It’s been half an hour since his parents hugged him goodbye, his baby sister crying the whole time from her pram, and Counselor Sol patted him kindly on the back as he led him to their patch of grass.

Across the aisle, another group of scouts are seated—all boys. Archie wonders where the Guides are in this town. The other scouts don’t look like the Kavod boys, who are sloppy and wrinkled in their army-green uniforms. The other scouts are wearing blue-grey shirts and shorts with red and white neckerchiefs, white socks pulled neatly up to mid-calf, black boots freshly shone. Unlike the Kavod scouts, their hair is combed and their uniforms are clean. (The Kavod scouts have a “ _laissez-faire_ ” attitude towards dirt, so long as it doesn’t touch the patch on the right shoulder of their shirts—a six-pointed star with some Hebrew letters in the middle.)

Donny, who seems to have already shrugged off their earlier fist fight, leans towards him and whispers, “Those are the Honor Scouts—the ones that camp on the other side of the fence.” Archie doesn’t remember seeing them, but he wasn’t really paying attention to anything earlier besides the bruise swelling around his eye.

Omar leans across Smitty Utivich, who seems to be the only one of the Kavod scouts watching the Variety Act, and says, “I saw them pitching tents earlier. I thought last year they said they were going to move nearer to the woods.”

“Yeah, I asked Sol about that,” Donny whispers. “Apparently the Catholics raised objections because some of the Honor dicks have vandalised the church on the other side of the trees.”

“Assholes,” mutters Hirschberger and Sol shushes them all as the master of ceremonies steps back on the tiny stage. Some of the Honor scouts snicker to one another and Archie examines the young woman, who is the high-pitched soprano. Her hair is golden and curls around her shoulders, brushing against the blue straps of her dress.

“Marvelous singing by our newly returned Malka Dreyfus!” The master of ceremonies claps and smiles at her. She smiles back, looking a little embarrassed. There is some murmuring from the crowd as she descends the stage and moves to sit with a blonde girl who’s probably her sister and an older couple who are probably their parents.

“And now a scene from William Shakespeare’s _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , performed by Mr. and Mrs. Davies, Walter and David Tinker, Phillip Rothman, Charlie, Harry, Maria and Christine O’Donnel, Mary Williams and Brigitte von Hammersmarck.”

“ _Are we all met?_ ”

It’s the scene with Bottom and Titania. (Archie has seen _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ at least a dozen times; his father once sang the part of Bottom himself.) Archie watches, bored, as the players run about on stage, mispronounce words and are generally dull and unprofessional. The man playing Bottom is boring, even if his donkey mask is well crafted, and the woman playing Titania isn’t much better once she “wakes up”.

It’s almost dark now, the trembling of the spotlight more obvious than before. Four girls troop onto the stage, fairy costumes glittering, and the one in front, the tallest and oldest of the four—a long white ostrich feather seeming to bloom flower-like from her small, white satin cap—says:

“ _Ready!_ ”

“ _Where shall we go?_ ”

“ _Hail, mortal!_ ”

A curl of platinum-coloured hair escapes from her cap and brushes against the makeup that sparkles on her cheeks. She moves like a prima ballerina and talks like the queen in her television speeches.

“ _Peaseblossom._ ”

Rosy gauze brushes her pale leg as she moves, toes pointed as she steps. Sequins sparkle. Her eyes are sharp and determined as she watches Mr. Davies stumble through another line.

As the audience applaud, he slips away, ignored by Donny and Omar and the other scouts. Even Aldo is occupied talking to Wilhelm in hushed tones.

 

“Write to me at Camp Honor,” she tells him and slips a piece of paper into his hand (it’s not an address). Her fingers are uncalloused, her nails short and polished.

“I will,” he promises and she kisses him on the cheek.

 

_August 1967_

Smitty’s now wearing a white t-shirt and his shorts. Most of the blood has been washed off his face and Counselor Sol set his nose. (Aldo was almost the one to do it, but Sol pushed him aside, lecturing him about the difference between reading something in a book and being in medical school.) Donny and Omar went back to the field twenty minutes ago to look for his yarmulke, but they’ve not come back yet. Wilhelm is even quieter than usual and the other younger scouts are crowded around Smitty’s feet, all talking at once. (There are three eleven year olds—Andy, Simon and Michael—that Archie cannot keep straight—he can only remember Hirschberger because forgetting Hirschberger would be more of a challenge than remembering him.) Some of the scouts from the older group who camp on the other side of town—all tall high school students—have biked over with their counselor and are asking if one of them or all of them should bike into town to call the hospital.

But Counselor Sol keeps telling everyone to calm down; that Smitty is going to be fine; that he’s just broken his nose and has some bruises on his stomach—but it’s all sort of nullified by the way Smitty keeps crying, even after Aldo stole Donny’s yarmulke and pinned it on.

Archie keeps glancing over at Hirschberger, who’s smoking behind Wilhelm’s tent and crying.

“It was those Honor guys—I _know_ it,” Aldo keeps saying to Counselor Sol, but Sol keeps shushing him, because every time Aldo says “Honor”, Smitty cries harder.

" _They stole it_!” is the first coherent thing that comes out of Smitty’s mouth, an hour or so after the sun first appears above the horizon.

Hirschberger stamps his cigarette into the ground as Donny and Omar come back into view, shoulders slumped. Archie sprints toward them, unsure why he’s doing so. It’s nice to move, to feel like he’s doing something for the short period of time it takes to reach them.

“We couldn’t find it,” Omar says because Donny is still tensed and wild-looking with anger, his hands balled into fists, his nostrils flared.

One of the older scouts jogs towards them, socks wet from the dew in the grass and wraps his arms around Donny, pressing him into his skinny chest. (“That’s Donny’s older brother,” Omar explains as he pulls Archie away from the two. “He, Donny and Smitty—they’re all from the same town. Donny and Eddy’s parents drive them all down here each summer.”)

Archie watches the fence, to see if any of the Honor scouts react to all the noise coming from Camp Kavod, but none of them are even out of their tents yet. After a while, the one with the pale eyes and no eyebrows comes out with a sandy-haired one who always looks sort of nauseous and they start their campfire. They look so neat and tidy, neckerchiefs tied perfectly, socks pulled up to mid-calf.

Someone accidentally shoves Archie from behind and he stumbles forward. The scents of a cooked breakfast rise over the wire fence and the older Kavod scouts are still yelling to each other about who should go into town. The Honor scouts sit down to eat. The pale eyed one says something to their counselor (a tall, gingery-blond man with a thin nose) and he laughs loudly enough for Archie to hear him. Hans Landa smiles handsomely, his dark blond hair lit up in the sun. His skin is smooth and tanned, though he’s got a small burn on the bridge of his nose.

He catches Archie’s eye and smiles more broadly—his gaze alight with something much darker than mischief. Calmly, like a ballerina moving across the stage, he raises his right hand so it’s level with his mouth, showing off bandaged knuckles.

Archie looks away.

 

Archie sometimes sees Brigitte by Camp Honor, especially when the Honor scouts are out hiking. Her hair is usually pulled back, in a ponytail or something similar, but her blonde fringe hangs down by her eyes. She looks like an actress—like Doris Day or Grace Kelly—and her clothes are well-made and nicely coloured: girly, but pretty because of it. She never looks over beyond the fence and she talks politely enough with the scouts, smiling and laughing along. Her letters seem sterner than she is, but Archie knows what she’s trying to say. He hopes she knows to do the same for his. (He’s sure she does: they’ve been exchanging letters for almost a month.)

He doesn’t see Brigitte that day. He’s pretty sure she just stays inside the cabin where her father, the scout master, stays, way at the far end of the field. He wonders what she thinks about what happened.

He glances into Smitty’s tent—it’s not as crowded as it was. Now, it’s only Wilhelm, Eddy Donowitz and one of the eleven year olds (the one with the brown hair and the glasses) in there now. Smitty’s not crying so much now—a lot less than he was half an hour ago, when he finally choked out an explanation of what happened.

The basic story is this: Smitty was apparently allergic to dairy (something Donny was, surprisingly, unaware of); not allergic enough that he would break out in a rash or something or choke and die but enough that he would “feel sick and stuff later”. After they got back from services last night, they ate sandwiches with cheese and tomatoes, because they hadn't got to eat dinner before. Afterwards, Smitty went to bed and waited until everyone else had too before going back out to the field to throw up “because I didn’t want to seem gross or sickly or something and—”.

And while he was out in the field, by the tree line, throwing up, a group of Honor Scouts—led by Hans Landa—accosted him, stole his yarmulke (which he was still wearing, because he had wanted to change into pajamas after throwing up) and broke his nose. He passed out from that and only woke up, fifty feet from the tents, being half-carried by Hirschberger.

Outside Smitty’s tent, the shouting has turned into quiet discussion. Aldo is talking to Counselor Sol, but it’s too quietly for Archie to hear. A lot of the older scouts are gathered around the two of them, expressions serious. The other two eleven year olds are sitting with Hirschberger, rubbing his shoulders, but Hirschberger doesn’t seem to react to anything that they say to him.

Donny and Omar are closer to the tree line—the one that blocks the field from the lake, not the Catholic church, which is on the other side. They’re throwing rocks at tree trunks, Donny a little more ferociously than Omar.

Archie ducks into his tent and, kneeling by his bed, scrawls a quick letter to Brigitte, telling her everything that’s happened and asking if it’s true—she’s sure to know. She told him before that Landa had a crush on her and if he’s gross enough to beat up ten year olds just for wearing hats, then he would probably be gross enough to brag about it.

He folds the letter in thirds and tucks it into an envelope. He writes her name on the outside—he likes the way she spells her name—and stuffs it into his pocket.

No one is paying attention to him, as usual, and so no one sees him as he walks to the far end of the field, right up to the tree line at the back and goes to a hollow stump. And in that stump is a cigar box—the fourth—and in that cigar box is a letter.

And he takes the letter, replaces it with his own and reads it quickly as he walks back to camp.

 

_August 4 th (night time)_

_Dear Archie,_

_I hope nothing bad happened. Hans, Dieter, Werner, Sonny and Ludwig snuck out half an hour ago and I heard some shouting. Now they’re bandaging each other’s hands. I keep hearing them laughing, but I can’t understand what they’re saying. I hope you’re okay. Please tell me if you got hurt._

_I love you._

_Love,_

_Brigitte_

_(P.S. Sorry this is v. short. My flashlight is almost out of battery and even shaking it isn’t working. Sorry also for bad hand[uritig]writing.)_

 

Eventually, the older scouts clear off back to their camp and Smitty has fallen asleep and the eleven year olds have gone to bed, except Hirschberger, who is an honourary member of the “older boys” group.

There’s no campfire. No one is talking. Counselor Sol has already turned in and Aldo is sitting in his usual spot: the big rock that has a sort of flat top and sits beside the old fire pit. Wilhelm is sitting next to him (practically on his lap, but Archie is pretty sure Aldo and Wilhelm are a little too close for their own good) and Donny is sitting on the other side of the fire pit next to Omar, who’s drinking water slowly from his canteen. Hirschberger knocks cigarette ash onto the cold coals.

Archie sits across from Hirschberger: Donny and Omar on his left side, Aldo and Wilhelm on his right. He’s facing the fence, about thirty or so feet back from it, so he can see but not hear the Honor scouts as they hang around their fire, toasting marshmallows and hotdogs and laughing together. Archie doesn't see Brigitte there. He’ll check for letters later on.

Donny is muttering something and Aldo scoffs, shaking his head.

“Eddy’s already got something planned and believe me, Donny, it’s not going to make any difference.” He sighs, nostrils flared, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Small stuff—petty revenge—it ain’t gonna make any difference against the Honor scouts.”

“I’m not saying we do something _small_ ,” spits Donny, uncharacteristically bitter. Archie stares at him. He looks more feral than usual—his eyes wide and unblinking, his jaw squared. “I’m saying we take their youngest camper, hold him down and beat the ever-loving shit out of him. I think that’d get ‘em pretty riled up.”

“Well I think that’s a stupid plan for a lot of reasons, Donny,” says Aldo and Archie is pretty sure it’s the first time he’s ever heard Aldo use the word “stupid” is connection with anything Donny has said or done. “First of all, they don’t have any scouts as young as Smitty. Second, I don’t think it’d get ‘em riled up at all because clearly they don’t care how young a kid is as they proved with Smitty today.” He scratches his head, making his hair stand on end. “Finally, I think that beatin’ up a young Honor scout would be stupid because between that scout master of theirs and what I’ve heard about the disputed doctor-mister-professor Landa, we’d be likely to be thrown in a prison cell until Sol could get the money to bail us all out. Unless we could come up with a real solid plan, I think we just oughtta sit tight.”

Donny makes a derisive sound but doesn’t argue further. Archie watches the way he snaps twigs and thinks about what Omar said about Donny and Smitty being from the same town. It explains some of Donny’s behaviour earlier that summer: he initially introduced Smitty to Archie as “basically my younger brother” and spent a lot of time making sure he didn’t get homesick—or actually sick. Donny treats Smitty the way most people treat sick birds: carefully, gently, like he could shatter at any minute. He thinks about the way Donny ties Smitty’s neckerchief every morning.

“I don’t think we should just leave this to the older scouts,” he says and he’s surprised to hear the words coming out of his own mouth. Aldo looks at him, a crease between his brows, jaw frozen in the act of chewing gum. Archie continues, carefully. “I mean, I know I’m not...” He struggles for a few moments, trying to find the right words for what he’s saying. “What I mean is that I know that I’m not really... that I’m not really _part_ of everything here—”

“What the f—” Donny starts, but Archie continues, because he isn’t going to stop now. He hasn’t spoken this much since meeting Brigitte under the pine tree and he used to be very talkative and sort of obnoxious in his parents’ opinion and so he’s not going to shut up now. It’s like riding a bicycle. He’s remembering how it feels to form whole sentences as he’s finishing up the last one. He’d forgotten, but he’s remembering now.

“—But I think it’s important that _we_ do something: not Kavod as a whole organisation or something, but _us_ , specifically. I mean, Smitty... Smitty isn’t really... He’s _ours_. He’s not the seniors’ and so he’s not theirs to _avenge_ or whatever. _We_ are the ones who’ve got to do something, or else we’ll look like we don’t care or that we’re letting the seniors do our work.” He swallows. Aldo is staring at him, his expression different from earlier, but Archie can’t really work out what it is. It’s like he can see Aldo’s brain, just beyond his eyes, and it’s ablaze. “We need to show the Honor scouts that we will _hurt_ anyone who hurts our fellow Kavod scouts.”

Donny’s mouth is a little open; Omar is frozen, his canteen brushing his bottom lip; Hirschberger seems to have forgotten the cigarette in his mouth, its ash glittering red. Wilhelm is the only one moving, a slow, calm nod, his eyes half-closed.

“We don’t beat up one of the younger ones,” says Aldo, looking at Archie. He turns suddenly to Donny. “What’s the name of that one guy? The tall one who’s always at Hans’ shoulder?”

“I don’t know,” says Donny, just as Wilhelm says, “It’s Werner.”

"Him!” Aldo says, pointing a finger at Wilhelm. “That’s who we’re taking down.” He stands up on the rock. The distant, orange light of the Honor scouts’ campfire makes him look slightly demonic, his hair lit up from behind, his face half in shadow. “That’s who we take out. We’re Kavod scouts, dammit. We don’t beat up kids. We take out their main muscle.”

“Yeah!” says Omar. Hirschberger throws his cigarette in the cold ashes, tilting his head back to better see Aldo. Donny is gazing up, as though he’s just had a vision of angels.

“And once he’s out,” Aldo says, cocking his head back toward the fence, “that’s when we strike—and strike hard.”


	4. Herbert Chiclets

Hugo Stiglitz is twelve years old. He likes painting model cars and making guns with his collection of gun parts. He has a watch that his dad gave him that he wears all the time, except when bathing or swimming. His hair is sandy blond and he has pale eyebrows and when he stays out in the sun too long he burns. His favorite sport is soccer. He likes reading manuals and sometimes non-fiction books, like memoirs or historical texts about army strategy.

Hugo’s dad lives in a house by the sea and his mother lives in the apartment over a grocery store in town. They used to live just two blocks away from the ocean before his dad decided he didn’t like Hugo anymore and bought a shack right on the shore. Hugo lives with his mother in the apartment. It’s smaller than their old house.

Hugo goes to Camp Honor because his mother “needed space” that summer. She picks Camp Honor because she finds a pamphlet and likes the uniforms and she has an old school friend who lives in Vertide who “highly recommends” the camp. In July, she drives him to Camp Honor, shakes hands with the counselor—Frank Tinker—and drives back to Maine and a summer free of Hugo.

Hugo takes his collection of gun parts (all stolen from his dad’s collection) and one book: _The Prince_ , which he stole from the library.

Hugo doesn’t like anyone at Camp Honor. They’re all too loud and too obnoxious. Their troop leader, Hans Landa, finds himself attractive and likes to call Hugo a “retard”. And then all of the rest of them start calling him “retard” because they’re spineless and he hates them all. They don’t even know his name—one of them, Dieter, calls him “Herbert” around the scout master, so he won’t get in trouble. And he does this after Hugo’s been there for three weeks. His last name is embroidered on a patch above his shirt pocket and another boy, Frederick, still calls him “Chiclets”.

_Herbert Chiclets is not his name_.

The scout master’s daughter is nice. He doesn’t see her a lot, but she slaps away Hans’ hands when he tries to touch her hips. She laughs and acts like it’s a joke, but Hugo can see the way she steps away from Hans, putting distance between them. She’s pretty, but smart, Hugo thinks. She also smiles at him sometimes.

(And he always forgets to smile back, because he’s stupid and he always forgets to smile back and she’s nice enough to not call him a retard when she talks to him and he always forgets to smile back.)

Hugo’s mom and dad both like to call him shy when they aren’t blaming him for them not being married anymore and he’s even shier at Camp Honor. He tried for a week to make friends, but then Sonny (who’s younger than him) made fun of the way he smiled. And then they went to the movies one weekend and Hans made fun of his laugh. And then Werner found his collection of gun parts and he called him “psycho”. (And then Werner threw them all in the camp fire and Hugo had to pick them out when they were hot and burn his finger tips and the other boys laughed at him—and he still ended up losing two-thirds of his collection.) And then Dieter found his book and called him “princess”. And then he forgot to put on his scarf one morning and Hans slapped him and called him a “retard”.

And Dieter whacks the back of his head when he doesn’t get a joke and calls him “retard”.

And Werner punches him in the stomach when he falls in a stream during a hike and calls him “retard”.

And Frederick pushes his back when he forgets to shine his shoes and calls him “retard”.

And he sort of snaps when Werner makes a crack about his mother and the tight, red skirt she wore to drop him off and punches Werner in the eye, but Werner is bigger than Hugo (he’s the same age as Hans and a little bit taller) and much stronger. He grabs Hugo by the front of his shirt and slams him into the ground. While Hugo is lying there, winded and panting, Ludwig—who is, along with Sonny, one of the youngest campers and a year younger than Hugo—steps on his stomach and says:

“Get up, retard.”

But Hugo paid close attention to Counselor Frank’s descriptions of which plants they should eat and which they shouldn’t. He goes out that night and manages to find some ramaria formosa, which he gathers and places in the tin that used to hold all his springs. Ludwig spends most of the next day vomiting.

Hugo hides the tin in the mattress of his cot and no one ever finds it.

And he hears Counselor Frank and the scout master arguing about the amount of food poisoning the scouts are getting that year.

And Hugo smiles, even though he knows his smile is stupid-looking.

 

Hugo receives three letters that summer: one from his father and two from his mother.

The one from his father talks about how he is building a boat and is planning a sailing trip from the coast to England. The post-script says that Hugo is not allowed to send him letters anymore because his letters are hard to read because his handwriting is so bad.

The first one from his mother asks him how he is and talks about how her friend, Clarice, is setting her up on a date with some man named Daniel and how excited she is.

The second one from his mother, which comes on the second of August, tells him that she and Daniel are dating and she is very happy and that his aunt, who lives in Maryland, has offered to take Hugo for the next school year and asks if that will be fun.

 

The boys at Camp Honor hate the boys at Camp Kavod, which means Hugo is instantly interested in what the boys at Camp Kavod do, which is, as it turns out, not especially interesting. Hans is fixated on them at all times and the others follow behind him either because they’re stupid and spineless or they actually agree with him that being Jewish is “inferior”.

Hugo’s step-grandmother is Jewish and she’s probably the most decent person in his family.

And Hugo thinks Hans Landa is an idiot.

So he watches the Kavod scouts and watches how the one with the hooked nose is friends with the loud one. He watches how the Kavod troop leader coolly teaches the youngest camper how to tie a knot while Hans yells foul things over the fence and throws matches at them. He watches the little one that smokes talking with the taller, gingery one who talks with a funny accent. He watches them heading out to go hiking, backpacks slung over their shoulders, singing a song Hugo doesn’t know, the loud one swinging his arms cheerfully, elbows linked with his friend.

They’re _nice_.

Well, that definitely explains why Hans doesn’t like them.

 

Hugo doesn’t know about the kid getting beat up until he wakes up in the middle of the night, hearing loud talking by the fire pit. He steps out of his tent in his shorts and sees Hans, Werner, Dieter, Sonny and Ludwig sitting together, wrapping each other’s knuckles. He sees someone run by the tree line at the back of the field and hesitates. It’s the daughter of the scout master and he’s sure that any minute, Hans or one of the others is going to turn back that way, so he steps forward.

“What are you all doing?” he asks. The five boys turn towards him. They remind him of wild cats. “How did you get hurt?”

“What are you doing up?” asks Hans. He reminds Hugo of a monster movie his father took him to see, lit below with the light from the fading coals in the fire pit. Hugo admits he’s scared of Hans. Hans has the love of all the scouts and much of the town, it seems, from the excursions they’ve had. Hans is tall for his age and much stronger than he looks (and he doesn’t look weak).

“I heard you talking,” Hugo answers, truthfully. He sees, at the back of the field, the scout master’s daughter running back to the cabin where she’s staying. “What are you talking about?”

“Why, retard?” asks Dieter. He is very pale and his hair looks whiter than normal in the dim light. “Did you want to join us?”

Hans, Werner and the younger ones laugh. Hugo shakes his head.

Hans stands up. He doesn’t move like a regular person, in Hugo’s opinion. He moves the way people move in Marx Brothers films—like every movement is too much for real life. He steps toward Hugo.

“We were just dealing with one of the yids,” he says and Hugo’s stomach feels the way it feels when he’s eaten too much of something too sweet. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

There’s a little blood on the shoulder of Hans’ uniform shirt, soaking into the cotton. Werner is playing with a little hat that Hugo’s seen the youngest Kavod camper wearing most of the time. Hugo glances at Hans—at his chin, because his eyes are too much for Hugo to look at most of the time—and nods and Hans punches in the stomach.

He watches the field all that night, through the little hole he tore in the seam of his tent, waiting. Around four in the morning, he sees one of the Kavod scouts—the little on that smokes—walking out. He hears shouting and, a few minutes later, watches him carrying the youngest camper over his shoulders.

The other Kavod campers rush out from their tents to help him, creating a wall of bodies around the injured one, blocking him from Hugo’s sight, as though they know he’s watching.

 

The following night, Hugo carefully removes the Camp Honor patch from the shoulder of his shirt: red with a black symbol on it that looks like a Y with three prongs. He waits in his tent for the other Honor scouts to go to sleep—they were laughing about what they did by the camp fire last night and Hugo gives Frederick a little credit for looking grossed out by the whole thing. (He also has to give some credit to Frank, who found out around mid-afternoon, when Counselor Solomon from Camp Kavod came over to tell him what happened, and he chooses that evening to give them a seemingly improvised speech about violence and its consequences.)

The other boys stayed up very late, late enough that Hugo knows that the younger section Camp Kavod won’t try anything that night. They’ll be tired from that day and will be more likely to go straight to bed.

That doesn’t mean that the older Kavod scouts Hugo saw earlier won’t be trying anything.

(Hans is so shocked by the bottoms of their canoes going missing, he rounds on Ludwig. Hugo thinks Hans is an idiot and a poor strategist.)

Hugo packs up his things, including his book and his remaining gun parts and the tin of ramaria formosa and leaves his tent.

And so he’s going to wait by the hole in the fence he found on his fourth night at Camp Honor.

As he goes, he drops his patch in the fire pit, relishing the way it smokes.

 

He sort of dozes off by the hole, but he wakes up quickly when he hears approaching voices.

In a hazy moment, between dreams and reality, he thinks it’s Hans and Werner and Dieter coming to beat _him_ up, but he sees two figures approaching from the Kavod half of the field and positions himself in a crouch, waiting for them to come closer. It’s the loud one and the quiet one that’s usually hanging around the troop leader.

He stands up when they’re about six feet from the fence and the loud one gives a weird, half-scream and curses and the quiet one is, unsurprisingly, silent, but looks like his heart has stopped.

“My name is Hugo Stiglitz,” he says in a loud whisper, hands raised by his head so they can see he doesn’t have any knives in them, “and I am not an Honor scout.”

The scouts glance at each other, looking confused and shaken. They’re both holding strips of cloth. “What are you then?” asks the loud one.

“Well—” Hugo’s voice feels sticky in his throat. He swallows. “I’d hoped to be one of you?” It ends up sounding like a question. He can feel his face heating up. The Kavod scouts stare at him like he’s crazy. Maybe they aren’t nice.

“Why?” asks the loud one. He’s short and muscular—like a miniature strong-man.

“Because you all are nice,” says Hugo. The loud one laughs and Hugo wants to hit him.

“What makes you think that?” asks the loud one. He’s got his hands on his hips now. The quiet one hasn’t moved. He seems to be silently considering Hugo, watching him with his dark eyes under dark, curved eyebrows.

“Because you don’t beat each other up.”

They stare at him. Finally, the quiet one speaks.

“Do they... do that to you?” he asks, hesitantly. He speaks with a quiet southern accent.

Hugo’s never really had a friend and he’s never met anyone who seems like they could be a friend. No one seems to get Hugo—not his mother, not his father, not any of the kids at his school or any of the boys at Camp Honor. But he feels like... He feels like he could be friends with the quiet one.

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” says the loud one.

“Who are you going to tie up?” asks Hugo, pointing at the cloth in their hands.

“The big guy that hangs round Landa,” says the quiet one. Hugo likes him a lot.

“Werner,” he says and points towards the third tent down the row. “He sleeps there.”

“Awesome,” says the loud one, rushing forward. He doesn’t slow down and slides through the hole in the fence and stands up in one fluid motion. He sticks out a hand. From closer up, Hugo can see that he smiles a little like a wolf. “I’m Donny. This is Wilhelm.” He points to the quiet one, who has just climbed through the fence himself.

“Do you want any help with Werner?” asks Hugo. Donny laughs and claps him on the shoulder. Hugo tries to shake him off, but Donny is sort of like an octopus and just latches on to him.

“Of course you’re helping, Hugo!” he says. “You’re a Kavod scout.”

Wilhelm smiles at him and Hugo manages to pull free of Donny’s grip.


	5. Sometimes a Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I recently rediscovered my old manuscript for this story and thought I would post up the two remaining chapters. I don't know if I'll end up writing the end, but I'm so glad I still have these parts :)

“Who the heck do they have with them?”

“They didn’t bring him back _here_ , right?”

“What the f—”

“Holy shit—is that an Honor scout?”

Archie watches as Donny and Wilhelm make their way across the field, a third boy between them. He looks about the same age as Donny, though a little skinnier, with sandy blond hair and pointed features. He’s the scout that always looks a little nauseous.

One of the eleven year olds—Simon or Michael, Archie thinks—turns around to where Aldo is standing next to Archie. “Are we taking prisoners now?”

“No,” grunts Aldo, looking a little mad with anger. He stomps forward and says in a stage whisper, “Donny—Wilhelm—what the hell are you doing?”

“He wants to be a Kavod scout!” says Donny and Wilhelm shushes him. The nauseous looking boy stops walking and watches Aldo warily.

“What makes you think he isn’t a damn spy, dammit?” asks Aldo. His uniform is a little too tight across the back, the center seam rippling from strain as he puts his hands on his hips.

“Because he helped us beat up the big guy,” says Donny. Wilhelm looks back at where the nauseous one has stopped.

“Come on, Hugo,” he says, barely loud enough for Archie to hear.

“He could’ve just done that to get in your good books,” Aldo says, before turning to the nauseous boy. “What’s your name, Kraut?”

“My name is Hugo Stiglitz,” he says, softly. He’s bit of a funny accent about his last name—saying it “Shtee-gleets”. He’s shaking a little, the saucepan clipped to his rucksack rattling. Archie notices that he’s got his palms facing out, towards Aldo. “And I am not an Honor scout.”

Aldo looks at him, long and hard. “Then why’re you wearing that uniform there?”

“Because I was an Honor scout.”

“And you aren’t anymore?”

“Yes.”

Aldo chews his gum sourly. “And can you prove that?”

Slowly, Hugo “Shtee-gleets” takes off his rucksack and sets it on the ground by his feet, never once taking his eyes off of Aldo. He reaches a hand inside and pulls out a rusty tin box that looks like it might’ve once held Tinker Toys, or something similar. He holds the tin box and the bag out to Aldo.

“I’ve been giving the scouts who call me retard some ramaria formosa—” he lifts the tin slightly higher, “—and I don’t have a patch for being an Honor scout anymore and also my step-grandmother is Jewish and I don’t like the way they talk about Jews. Also you can look in my bag and check for anything I might use against you all, but there isn’t anything.”

Aldo steps forward and takes the bag and the tin. He tosses the bag at Archie. “Check it and catalogue it for me so I can look through it.”

“What?” It’s the first time Aldo’s asked him to do anything closely resembling a higher position in the camp. Aldo usually only asks Wilhelm or Donny to do things like this. (Though he’d never ask Donny to catalogue anything, because Archie is pretty sure Donny is kind of illiterate and all he can read are the comics that are stacked untidily beside his cot in his and Omar’s shared tent.)

“Well can he at least come closer to the fire, Aldo? He fell in the stream earlier and I’m worried about him getting cold.” asks Wilhelm and he sounds a little annoyed, which is almost as shocking to Archie as Aldo’s order. Also it’s _Wilhelm_ and he’s _demanding_ something, even if it is in question form. And he doesn’t even wait for Aldo’s grunt of affirmation—he just walks Hugo over to the fire, helps him onto a rock by the pile of burning logs and hot coals.

Aldo doesn’t say anything, but he pops open the tin and pulls out something that looks like coral, like Archie’s seen in photographs taken under the ocean. Aldo examines it for a few moments, smells it and then turns toward Hugo, who’s holding his hands dangerously close to the flames. “This poisonous?”

“It causes diarrhea, vomiting and colicky symptoms,” says Hugo casually and Aldo laughs like a barking dog.

“You got any evidence you gave this to the Honor scouts?”

Hugo jerks his head toward Archie. “There’s a letter I stole from the post bag, making a complaint to Winston’s Groceries about the shocking number of food poisonings going on this year.” There’s something unnerving about how steady Hugo’s gaze is. Archie looks away and looks in the rucksack and pulls out a half-shredded envelope.

“Is this what you meant?” he asks and Hugo nods. Aldo takes the letter from Archie’s hand and reads it.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

Archie ducks his head again to examine the bag; it’s got a large amount of singed metal in it, some spare shorts and undershirts and a stained book that’s got a stamp in the front from a library. Archie coughs to try and get Aldo’s attention, but the letter is apparently too engrossing and so Archie has to say, “Aldo! There’s nothing really in here.”

Aldo looks at him. “D’you catalogue it?”

“No, because there’s practically nothing in here.”

Aldo shakes his head and turns the letter over, as though expecting it to continue on the other side, though Archie can see a signature at the bottom of the front.

He watches as Wilhelm fills a saucepan with his own canteen and holds it over the fire. After a while, he pulls a cocoa packet from his pocket and adds it to the saucepan and pours the mixture in a mug which he gives to Hugo and smiles. Hugo doesn’t smile back, but he takes the mug and drinks from it. He says something and Wilhelm pats him on the shoulder before getting up and walking over to Aldo, who’s still examining the letter.

Wilhelm whispers something in Aldo’s ear. Aldo blinks, looking shocked and turns again to look at Hugo, but this time he doesn’t say anything. He just looks back at Wilhelm and whispers, “Is he?” Wilhelm shakes his head and whispers something else, to which Aldo responds, “Shit.” And he looks at Hugo again for a while. And Hugo stares back, face only half-lit. They remind Archie of a detective movie, staring each other down in the dark.

“How many scouts did you poison ‘til Captain Stephan von Hammersmarck felt it necessary to threaten Winston’s groceries?”

“All of them at least once. A couple twice.”

Donny gives Aldo a look which Archie isn’t sure how to decipher, but Aldo is still watching Hugo, who sips slowly from his mug of cocoa. Archie hasn’t seen Hugo blink yet and that’s unnerving. Archie refocuses on the rucksack and pulls out a piece of metal.

“Is this part of a pistol?” he asks. Aldo turns around and Hugo sits up straighter so as to see what Archie’s holding.

“I collect gun parts,” he says. Aldo grins, turning back around.

“Donny, see if you can’t find a patch for Hugo here,” Aldo says and he walks forward, sticking out his hand for Hugo to shake.

“Welcome to Camp Kavod, Hugo,” he says. Hugo stares at him.

  


Hugo settles in quickly with the other Kavod scouts—much faster than Archie did (not that he has yet, even). Turns out he’s quite a bit sloppier than the rest of the Honor scouts, which sits well with Aldo and the others. It also turns out he speaks German, because his father’s family is German, though his father served in the American military. In Korea.

(This is the most Hugo ever talks about his parents. His mother is a mysterious entity and his father is usually talked about while he’s throwing pieces of sticks at the ground in a mindless release of energy. The only person he’ll talk about is his step-grandmother, who married his mother’s father after his first wife died and who is apparently Jewish and a nurse.)

He quickly becomes friend with, of all people, Wilhelm. Archie only uses the term “friends” because he doesn’t really understand the two of them or what to call the weird... way that develops quickly between them. Wilhelm is very gentle with Hugo—almost maternal or something—and Hugo seems to thrive and leech off the energy Wilhelm gives off with soothing pats on the shoulder and mugs of cocoa. (Archie wonders, sometimes, how many cocoa packets Wilhelm has and why he’s never offered to share any with the rest of the Kavod scouts.) It’s sort of funny to watch: Wilhelm walking quickly because of his long legs and Hugo jogging behind.

He also gets on well with Donny, but Archie thinks it’s because they’re both similarly demented. And Aldo likes Hugo because he collects gun parts and can _recite the name of every battle during the American Civil War_. And Smitty likes Hugo because he and Donny both carry Smitty on their shoulders the next time they all go hiking.

Hugo doesn’t really like Archie, but Archie’s pretty sure that Hugo only really likes Wilhelm and tolerates Donny (barely).

Basically, the first real issue with Hugo becoming a Kavod scout is his patch, because there aren’t any spare ones and Aldo ends up drawing a six-pointed star and writing the Hebrew letters on Hugo’s shirt with a pen.

The second real issue is convincing the Counselor Sol that he definitely should not send Hugo back to Camp Honor. Aldo and Wilhelm come into Archie’s tent, several hours before breakfast. It takes Aldo shaking his shoulder for almost five minutes before Archie wakes up.

“What are you two doing here?” he asks, too tired to feel worried about them being in his tent. The boxes are still under his mattress; he can feel the lumps under him.

“We’ve got to be older boys,” says Aldo. He shoves Archie one more time. “Come on.”

He gets dressed while Aldo and Wilhelm talk to each other by the tent flap. He’s not sure if they’re talking about him, but he finds himself trying to dress while exposing as little skin as possible. When he finishes tying his neckerchief, Aldo jerks his head toward the outside.

Archie follows them to Counselor Sol’s tent, which he’s never entered and he never really wanted to. It sits at the end of the row of tents, slightly larger and much more stable seeming than the rest. Aldo nods at Wilhelm and enters first. Archie moves to follow, but Wilhelm stops him.

“I thought we were _all_ being “older boys”,” snaps Archie, his patience thin from being awake so early. He’s not sure when he started being so snippy. Sometime after the evening he began talking again, he thinks.

Wilhelm gives him a look and says, “We aren’t troop leaders. Only the troop leader should bother the counselor.”

Archie makes a noise of annoyance, but he really doesn’t care very much. He yawns as Aldo sticks his head out of the flap and says, “Come in.”

Wilhelm smiles at Archie as if to say “ _How long was that?_ ” and Archie wonders if he’s been missing something this entire summer and Wilhelm’s not stupid or shy: he’s just been taking the piss. All summer. It would make his friendship with Aldo make a lot more sense.

Archie enters the tent. Counselor Sol is sitting up in bed, buttoning his shirt, his glasses askew and his hair curly and tangled. He looks tired but much more patient with Aldo than Archie was when waking up. He’s also got a lot of stubble and it makes him look a bit like a film star, all disheveled and tanned, sweat shining on his skin.

“Alright, Aldo, what’s going on?”

“Sir, I need to inform you that we gained an extra camper last night, sir.” Aldo standing at attention is really sort of intimidating. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad and even though he’s not graceful and his tallness and broadness usually makes him look awkward or too big in his too small uniform—when he stands, shoulders back, head pushing into the roof of the tent, he looks impressive.

“What?” _Now_ Sol sounds impatient.

“From Camp Honor, sir. One of their former campers joined our number last night.”

“ _What?_ ”

“But, sir, you’ve got to understand they were being real nasty to him and I don’t want him going back there. I guess they were beating him up and stuff and I don’t think he oughtta go back if that’s how they’re going to treat anyone that’s different from the rest of ‘em.”

“What the—how is he different? Who is this?”

“His name is Hugo Stiglitz, sir, and I don’t think he’s much different but he’s real quiet and they were calling him a retard—”

“Is he?”

“I don’t think it matters, sir, but they thought he was and so they called him that and they were beating him up all the time and apparently they threw out part of his gun part collection and—”

“Aldo, I—”

Aldo keeps speaking faster and faster, sounding somewhat demented the faster he goes. “Gun _parts_ , not guns, sir. He’s a good kid and I think he’d make a great Kavod scout and his step-grandmother’s Jewish, though you don’t have to be Jewish to be a Kavod scout—” He makes a weird gesture towards Archie at this, “—and he’s a good kid, I think, sir, though I’m only judging from meeting him last night. He’s around Donny’s age and I think he’d make a great addition to our camp.” He stops suddenly, lips pressed together. The muscles in his neck are tensed, highlighting the scars from the hawthorn tree back in July.

Counselor Sol sighs through his nose and blinks, slowly. “Is that all of it?”

“Yes, sir. I apologise for talking so much, sir.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on here. Did one of their scouts just walk over the fence and ask to be a Kavod scout?”

“Essentially, sir.”

Counselor Sol looks at Wilhelm, where he’s standing next to Archie. “Is that what happened, Willy?”

Wilhelm nods. “Exactly what happened, sir.”

Sol looks suddenly much more tired than before. He rubs his face with his hands and reaches for his khaki shorts, folded on the fold-out table beside his cot. “Can I meet this kid?”

Aldo turns to Wilhelm and Archie, “Go get Hugo.”

Wilhelm grabs Archie’s wrist and pulls him out of the tent. It takes them only a few minutes to get Hugo from Donny and Omar’s tent. (He’s sleeping on the floor on top of Donny and Omar’s blankets; it turned out the Honor scouts didn’t stress packing sleeping bags.) They wait outside for him to get dressed, because the inside of the tent smells foul and Donny’s cursing in his sleep.

But when the tent flap opens, Donny and Omar are the first to leave, fully dressed, and they walk on either side of Hugo on the way to Counselor Sol’s.

Sol sort of gives up arguing when all five of them enter his tent. He looks at Hugo for a long moment, sighs again and says, “I’ll talk to Frank.”

  


Archie doesn’t witness the resulting argument, but he’s pretty sure that the luckiest thing about the entire situation is that it takes place before anyone’s discovered the big guy that hangs around Hans like a schmuck. He’s not sure how much trouble they’d get in if Counselor Frank Tinker of Camp Honor made a complaint about Werner Rachtman being tied up in his tent, but he’s sure it’d be a lot. (And Donny implied some stuff about maybe kicking Werner in the head, but Aldo told Donny to shut up so they could all have plausible deniability. Of course, Wilhelm went on to explain that the guy had been talking about how much fun it was to beat up Smitty Utivich and Donny hadn’t been able to help himself. Then apparently one of the younger Honor scouts named Sonny Butz had come in and Wilhelm had had to threaten him into silence. Overall, Aldo rates the venture a success and Archie wholeheartedly disagrees with him.)

But apparently the argument goes in Kavod’s favour, because Counselor Sol returns to the camp looking triumphant and manages to find a spare Kavod uniform for Hugo and gets a cot for him so he can share a tent with Wilhelm, who agrees cheerfully to the arrangement.

And so Hugo becomes an official Kavod scout and Aldo swears him in, grinning broadly.

It’s strange, the shift that occurs.

After the night he remembers how to talk, it seems as though Archie becomes much more _part_ of Camp Kavod. He’s brought up to the same level as Donny in the hierarchy of campers and it’s... well... It’s sort of fun actually. Because he writes to Brigitte (he’s started stealing Wilhelm’s stationary) and he misses Brigitte, but it’s nice to have more than one friend and to have friends that are with him.

Though Donny still makes fun of the way he says his ‘R’s and Aldo still looks at him sideways from time to time—Archie also becomes a proper Kavod scout about the same time as Hugo, though he was sworn in over a month before.

  


It’s August tenth when Aldo reveals his plan. And it’s absolutely demented and completely insane and even Wilhelm looks dubious.

“Are you _sure_ it’s a good idea?”

“Of course I am,” snaps Aldo, looking stern. “We aren’t just going to sneak in there every night and beat the shit out of them. That’d be stupid.”

“But what if they try to get back at us?” asks Smitty. His nose is almost healed by now, but he still looks too young with his dark, curly hair and his big, blue eyes.

“They won’t,” says Aldo.

“But what if we get caught?” asks Donny and Archie is surprised to hear him being the voice of reason in any discussion.

“We won’t.”

“It’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard,” says Archie and Aldo glares at him without responding.

“Forget getting caught, what if we get arrested?” asks Hirschberger.

“We’re not gonna get caught and we’re not gonna get arrested,” snaps Aldo. “We just need to lure Hans Landa over to our side, alone. And then we get him and all the rest of them.”

Archie bites into a graham cracker and tries to convey to Aldo how little he agrees with this plan and this idea. If Aldo sees this in Archie’s face, he ignores it.

“Men, have I led you astray before? I mean, excusing that time my compass broke and we didn’t realise it for about a mile or two.”

Donny shakes his head cheerfully. “Never have, Aldo.”

And where Donny and Aldo go, the rest inevitably follow.

“Then it looks like we’re going to kidnap Little Miss von Hammersmarck,” announces Aldo, beaming, and the rest of them cheer, except Archie, who sighs and raises his hand, only standing once the applause ends.

“We don’t need to kidnap her,” says Archie. He swallows hard and takes a deep breath and tries to stop himself from throwing up. “Brigitte is my girlfriend.”

 


	6. The Meeting of Plans on August 10th, 1967

_August 1967_

Shoshanna hates Freddie Zoller. A lot.

He’s just so... awful and annoying and clingy. He comes to her window in the middle of the night, when it’s sweaty and hot at the end of July, his bike abandoned on the lawn—and then he insists on her kissing his cheek in greeting because she’s “French and that’s what you do there, right?” And his smile that goes down and then up at the corner like he’s a cat.

He does the same thing every night following. He climbs up the willow tree in the backyard to the roof and then swings down to the ledge by her window.

It only takes him nearly falling and breaking his legs for him to leave a letter in her mailbox asking her to bicycle to the edge of the field where all the scouts camp.

Well that only took _two weeks_ of worrying her parents were going to hear his stupid whispering. (Though it was worth it to look over Freddie’s shoulder at Marcel’s window, because Marcel stays up to make sure everything is going well and sometimes he catches her eye through the glass and laughs hysterically until she has to look away again or risk bursting out laughing herself.) The invitation means that she and Marcel can surveil the Honor campsite, which they could definitely not have done beforehand, especially with Freddie being so... eager.

She meets with Freddie that night, her hair damp from sweat and humidity. And he’s there, waiting by the edge of the fence (and Marcel is waiting at the tree line where the boys from Camp Kavod are set up). He’s holding a bouquet of flowers, which she takes and then tries to smile at him.

“Thanks, Freddie,” she says and drops them in her basket. He smiles stupidly.

“It’s still Frederick,” he corrects her, like he does every other time. She nods as though in understanding.

“I just think Freddie suits you much better.” She hears a shout from far off and looks at him. “Are they still up?”

“It’s one of the guys from Kavod,” he explains. “I wouldn’t want anyone here to—I mean. Not like... It’s just some of the other scouts don’t like... girls and so I don’t—”

She nods slowly as he talks himself into silence. “I can’t come here every night you know, Freddie. My parents almost caught me before I left. Also my sister’s home and if she sees me, I'll definitely get in trouble.” She tries to look upset about it, but she’s not sure she succeeds.

Freddie touches her hand on the handle of her bike. She looks at him. He looks hopeful and excited, his cheeks pink, his dark eyes bright. She withdraws her hand and her bike almost slips to the ground.

“Don’t do that!” she snaps when he tries to right it. She catches herself though and smiles. “Though that’s very nice of you.”

Freddie, who apparently forgets every impolite thing she says seconds after it leaves her mouth, smiles at her like he’s someone in a classical painting marveling over a Madonna. Even though she’s depending on his inability to take a hint or even to catch the glaring hatred of Freddie and Hans and all of the rest of them that’s she’s sure she exudes—it really makes it hard for her to treat him kindly when he seems so... ignorant.

“I think about you all day,” he says and he looks handsome for a minute in the dark—handsome, but foolish.

“Good,” she says, because she can’t think of anything else. She adjusts her grip on the handle of her bicycle. She can hear distant talking and Freddie glances back toward the camp nervously. “I should go.”

He looks down for a moment, as though ashamed, and then smiles at her again. “Come back soon, Shoshanna. Please.”

Marcel joins her as she bicycles home. He laughs harder than any joke should merit when she explains how the meeting went. She isn’t sure why he laughs, but in the light from the streetlamps and his skin looking all smooth and dark, he seems very handsome until he says, “You’re supposed to _encourage_ him when he flirts, Shoshanna! Honestly, how do your parents raise you?”

“Not to take advantage of boys,” she says but she smiles and Marcel doesn’t take it as he ought.

“Well, you’re the one who came up with this plan. I thought we should become pacifists.”

She swerves and ‘accidentally’ knocks into his bike.

  


The boys from Camp Kavod don’t come into the cinema that Sunday the way they normally do, which is too bad, because Shoshanna likes to watch them. It's a bit like watching a flock of chickens – like controlled chaos. By Monday, however, she’s heard fragments of explanations from multiple sources. Of course, since it’s Vertide, the actual events are extremely variable. Some people tell her it’s Hans’ work, that he beat up a _ten year old boy_ (they always stress how old he is, even though no one cares how old Amos is or that he’s still in the hospital). Others say the boy slipped in the creek that runs through the field, smashed his face in and decided to say it was the boys at Camp Honor so he wouldn’t be teased by the other Kavod scouts.

Shoshanna is pretty sure she knows which version is true.

  


She and Marcel bike down to the lake Monday afternoon and luckily the Kavod scouts aren’t there. Shoshanna jumps in the water within a few minutes of their arriving. Her swimsuit has gotten too small because her mother forgot to buy her a new one, but Marcel doesn’t say anything. He does a cannonball off the dock and splashes water all over her.

“I told you Hans wouldn’t stop by himself,” she says, treading water and wiping her eyes. “Everyone always let’s him do whatever he wants.”

“I never said he would _stop_. I said _you_ shouldn’t try to get into trouble and I still think that, by the way.”

She scoffs and starts to swim away, but he grabs her by the middle and pushes her underwater. When she gets back to the surface, he’s laughing, still holding her wrist, and she realizes that she’s been smiling for a while. Droplets of water fall from his hair. His smile stretches wide across his face. His skin shines and drips, dark and beautiful and smooth in the golden afternoon light. It feels like the area behind her ears is burning and so she ducks back underwater.

  


She meets Freddie on the eighth and she lets him take her hand when she tells him she won’t be able to come the next evening. On the ninth, she and Marcel bicycle to the fence and crouch in the grass, watching the Honor scouts as they eventually filter into their tents. They’re going to stay there until one in the morning, to make sure Freddie doesn’t go to wait for her, just in case.

The plan, until ten o’clock August ninth, goes like so:

Shoshanna and Marcel will bicycle over to the campsite at ten o’clock on the twelfth (assuming Freddie never leaves his and Dieter’s tent tonight). They’ll watch for the counselor to go to sleep, then Marcel will go down near the edge of the field, closer to the Catholic church, and set off five of the roman candles. He’s then to hide in the woods.

Once all the campers have rushed to investigate, Shoshanna will light another five behind the scout master’s cabin. Soon after, Marcel will shoot off two more from the woods while Shoshanna fires three others at some of the tents, making them catch on fire.

And then they grab Hans Landa and they take him to the tree house; and they make him watch the film and Shoshanna lights the last roman candle; and she and Marcel jump down from the ladder and run toward their homes.

But the plan changes at ten past when Marcel turns towards her, his gaze very different and difficult to decipher in the moonlight. She’s suddenly very aware of how their shoulders are pressed together, that they’re so close she can feel his breath on her cheek, slightly warmer than the night air.

“Shoshanna,” he whispers and then stops. Her throat feels thick like she’s going to cry and there are actually tears in her eyes because her cheeks are burning hotter than they’ve ever burned in her life. Because his eyes are so wide and bright in the night against his dark skin and his beautiful skin that she had a dream about once, though she’d never tell him because she doesn’t want him to know.

His lips brush her cheek and a tear slips from her eye and lands on his skin.

And that’s when a flashlight comes on behind them.

“What’re you doing on our land?” asks a Kavod scout—recognizable from the blue scarf tied around his collar—his face obscured in shadow, his blond hair seeming to glow like a halo in the moonlight.

  


The troop leader, Aldo Raine, leads her and Marcel to the only illuminated tent in the row. Shoshanna has met Aldo before—she was even invited to his bar mitzvah last year—but she’s never really spoken to him, because he’s a Kavod scout and she doesn’t usually talk to them. But even if she didn’t like to watch the Kavod scouts in the cinema, it’d still be hard to miss Aldo. She once saw him reading a book of poems before the lights went down in the cinema—yet he stomps his feet when he walks and says “Kavod” as “Kah- _vawd_ ” and “Vertide” as “ _Vear_ -tied”. She heard at Shabbat school that his parents run a kosher ranch, but she doesn’t know if that’s true.

Aldo is sort of funny looking now, with his awkward-looking mouth and his shoulders which are too broad for his uniform shirt. He’s quite tan, but his hair is unmistakably blond.

He stops in front of the tent and holds open the tent flap for her and Marcel, following behind.

The tent is packed with boys. Ten of them—and she, Marcel and Aldo bring the count up to thirteen. Though the tent is clearly only made for one person to sleep in, they all pack in. A cot has been folded against the wall and beside it is a tall stack of books topped with a photograph of a red-faced couple, who are probably Aldo’s parents because, with the stack of books that heavy, there’s no doubt this is Aldo’s tent.

Boys line the three walls—five to her right, three in front and two to her left. Aldo walks to the center, half-stooped because of the tent’s low ceiling. He gestures for Shoshanna and Marcel to take their seats by the tent flap and they do.

“Gentlemen, this is Shoshanna Dreyfus and her—friend, Marcel. Shoshanna’s a local. You remember the letter from Sol in January tellin’ us to remember Amos. This is his sister.”

All the scouts nod, except a reddish-brown haired one who gestures angrily, but silently, behind Aldo’s back with a notebook and pen.

One of the younger ones, who are all sitting together (almost on top of each other) to her left, raises his hand like he’s in class. Aldo nods at him and the younger boy turns to Shoshanna, large, dark eyes sincere.

“Is Amos doing okay?”

Shoshanna nods, because it’s a little too complicated to explain. “He’s doing okay. Thank you.” She doesn’t drag out the end of the word, but the younger scout still sits forward and offers his hand. He has really pale eyebrows, but his hair is dark.

“Michael Zimmerman,” he says. “You can call me ‘Mike’, though.” She shakes his hand, unsure of what to say in response.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea.” Aldo points at Mike. “Michael Zimmerman. And there’s Andy Kagan—” a boy with heavy glasses, frizzy brown hair and a long nose raises his hand, “—Sammy Hirschberg—” another boy with thick dark hair. His nose is small and rounded like his cheeks.

The boy with the red-brown hair and the notebook interrupts at this point. “His name is Hirschberg _er_.” He talks like _Mary Poppins_.

“You know, only _you_ call me that,” says Hirschberg, leaning forward to look at him. “You’ve been calling me that all summer and I don’t get why.”

 _Mary Poppins_ -boy is speechless and Aldo presses his lips together impatiently before pointing again. “This is Simon Sakowitz.” A skinny boy with curly black hair and straight eyebrows smiles. “And this is Smitty Utivich.”

He’s got a bandage across his nose, marking him as Hans’ last victim. He’s very little, obviously the youngest of the group, with big blue eyes that tilt down at the corners and curly black hair. He’s also wearing a yarmulke, which makes Shoshanna sad, for some reason.

Aldo turns and gestures to _Mary Poppins_ -boy, “Behind me is Archie Hicox, Donny Donowitz—”

Shoshanna has met Donny before. Donny likes to talk to her during every Fourth of July. He tends to move around a lot. And talk a lot and quickly—too quickly for Shoshanna to really follow. She has a feeling he has a crush on her, but it’s hard to tell, because he just... doesn’t stop. And he looks like any minute, hair is going to burst out of all his skin—or like his eyes are going to pop out of his skull because he holds them so wide open.

He also invited Shoshanna to his bar mitzvah—and then sent her another letter, which read as follows:

_Dear Shoshanna + your parents,_

_I just wanted to say that it is O.K. that you could not come to my bar mitzvah. Thank you + your parents for the card + the money. It was really nice of you. I used the money to buy some comic books. Esp._ _ Superman _ _comics because_ _ Superman _ _is my favorite._

_Thank you. When you have you bat mitzvah, please tell me and I will make sure to send you a gift._

_Love,_

_Donny._

Except every single word is misspelled and his handwriting looks like a small child’s. And all his H’s are capitalized.

Donny smiles at her now, his hair sticking straight out on one side, a little blood caked around the inside of his left nostril.

“And that’s Omar Ulmer.” It’s the boy that’s always glued to Donny’s side, with the big nose and the tan and the wiry black hair. His shoulders are really narrow too or maybe he’s just got a big head.

“Over here,” Aldo gestures to Shoshanna’s right, “we’ve got Hugo Stiglitz—” He looks about the same age as Donny, but he’s a little smaller, scrawnier, with pale, sharp features, short eyebrows and hair the color the sand that’s around the lake. He looks sort of familiar, but she doesn’t remember seeing him with the Kavod scouts before.

“Wait—weren’t you an Honor scout?” asks Marcel and then it clicks into place. She remembers seeing him, almost invisible in his gray-blue uniform and red scarf. His Kavod outfit is actually a little over-sized, but he stands out more in the dusty green, blue scarf uneven—a bit more present.

“Hugo poisoned most of the camp and then joined us,” Aldo explains and the boy sitting beside Hugo, who’s got such dark features it looks almost like his face has been outlined in ink, pats him on the shoulder. He’s a little older than Hugo—about the same age as _Mary Poppins_ -boy—and he’s acting like his older brother, though they’re definitely not related. “And he helped us tie up Werner What’s-His-Name and helped Donny kick him around a bit. And right here, next to Hugo, is Wilhelm Wicki, my right-hand man.”

“I thought I was your right-hand man!” says Donny, looking stricken.

“I’m the vice-troop leader,” says Wilhelm, obviously confused. “Why would you be the right-hand man?”

“I don’t know...” Donny picks at a scab on his knee and glances at Shoshanna for a moment before looking away again.

Aldo makes a noise that’s between a grunt and a sigh. “Donny, you’re my left-hand man, because you’re a lefty: does that work?”

“Totally!” And Donny’s smiling again.

“Wait,” _Mary Poppins_ -boy cuts in, “why is Donny the third-in-command? I’m older than he is.”

“You’re the chief secretary, Archie. Speaking of which, have you been taking notes on all this?”

“Why would I be taking notes? All you’ve done is introduce everyone!”

“You’re the secretary,” says Donny, grinning meanly. “You’re supposed to take notes and bring the boss coffee.”

“You really oughtta wear a nicer skirt for your new position, Archie,” says Omar. “Seeing as you’re chief-secretary and everything.”

“Shut up! You’re both idiots!”

“ _You’re_ the idiot!” is Donny’s comeback, but Aldo shushes them.

“Do you want Counselor Sol to come in here?” he demands, his voice barely softer than usual. “Now, I brought Shoshanna and Marcel in here because I’m pretty sure they’ve got similar goals in mind as we do.” He turns to Shoshanna. “Is that right?”

Shoshanna lifts her chin, still able to feel the ghost of Marcel’s lips on her left cheek. “What are your goals?”

“We’re gonna kill Hans Landa,” says Sammy Hirschberg.

“We’re not going to _kill_ Hans Landa!” snaps _Mary Poppins_ -boy.

“We’re going to beat him up, though, right?”

“We’re getting revenge,” clarifies Donny, “’cause he beat up Smitty.”

“And because he’s a dickhead,” mutters Hugo and Wilhelm slaps his shoulder.

Shoshanna nods and Marcel says, “Our goals are the same.”

“Good!” says Aldo and seats himself, cross-legged, in between Shoshanna and Wilhelm. He lays out a map of Vertide, that looks to be hand-drawn. It’s surprisingly accurate, though, from what she can tell, but she’s relieved that they’ve not marked the tree house behind the Catholic church. “Extra forces are always useful, especially since we want to come at this from all sides.”

He circles the camping field with a pencil, then taps it against the map. “Now, according to Hugo, every Wednesday, the scout master over at Camp Honor and Counselor Frank go out to that bar near the highway here—” he marks another spot on the map, a couple miles away from town.

“It’s called Liebermann’s,” corrects Marcel and Aldo nods and writes the name on the map.

“Thanks for that—and when those two leave, Hans Landa is the head of this whole area for Camp Honor, including—” he makes another mark on the map, this one on the Honor scout’s side of the field, right next to the tree line at the back, “—the scout master’s cabin, which is where we will find Miss Brigitte von Hammersmarck.”

Shoshanna scoffs, the sound escaping her throat before she can stop it, and Marcel laughs, a little higher pitched than usual.

“What’s _your_ problem?” snaps _Mary Poppins_ -boy and Donny shoves his shoulder.

“Don’t be rude!” Donny hisses.

“Do you have a problem with Miss von Hammersmarck?” asks Aldo curiously. Shoshanna presses her lips together and glances at Marcel.

“Brigitte is very well-liked here in town,” Marcel says. He’s biting his lip, trying to hold back laughter. Shoshanna glares at him. “And... uh... she and Shoshanna are not... friends.”

“Is it because of her dad?” asks Aldo. “I mean, he’s sort of an ass, from what I’ve heard.”

“Brigitte doesn’t do a thing her dad says,” says Marcel and _Mary Poppins_ -boy nods furiously and whispers “ _Yeah_!”, for some reason. “Especially since her mom’s been threatening him with divorce.”

Shoshanna nudges Marcel. There’s a silence, heavy and awkward—the sort of silence that always seems to follow the word “divorce”. Besides, it’s only rumors at school and everyone at school loves to talk about Brigitte. Because Brigitte is pretty and nice to everyone who talks to her and she’s just bad enough to smoke behind the gymnasium, but good enough that every teacher adores her.

Teachers don’t like Shoshanna, because she corrects them when they’re wrong and she doesn’t pay attention when it’s boring.

Also Brigitte is prettier than Shoshanna and Brigitte’s a year older and has bigger breasts.

“What do you want to do with Brigitte?” asks Shoshanna, trying to stop the conversation before it can go anything further.

“We’re gonna _kidnap_ her,” says Smitty Utivich, putting special emphasis on the word “kidnap”. “Only, it’s not really kidnapping, because she’s Archie’s _girlfriend_.”

“Shut up!” yells _Mary Poppins_ -boy, cheeks flushed. Donny laughs loudly and gives Smitty a thumbs-up.

“Good one, Smitty!” Omar says and Aldo shushes them all again. Shoshanna has a feeling she and _Mary Poppins_ -boy are not going to get along, but she appreciates that Aldo seems to be trying to stop the other boys from mocking him too much. It seems like a good sign.

“We’re gonna kidnap Miss von Hammersmarck,” says Aldo, giving a warning look to the rest of the scouts, “so that Hans Landa is forced to counter attack. He won’t bring everyone because, according to Hugo, not all the Honor scouts follow his every breath, but also because they need someone there for when Mr. von Hammersmarck and Frank get back. Once Hans and the others are on our side of the fence, we force ‘em to spread out by keeping out of sight, then we attack in groups. We’ll keep Hans up—probably tie him up or something—knock the others out and then we all whale on Hans together.”

He looks at Shoshanna, his eyes serious. “It’s a little rough—we’re still smoothing it out in places—but what do you think?”

Shoshanna looks at Marcel, lips pursed, and Marcel raises one eyebrow a little. She knows what he’s thinking at that moment, because they mastered the silent conversation ages ago, before Amos got hurt and everyone tried to make her and Marcel stop being friends. They speak French to each other, but they don’t really need words at this point. He nods a little.

“We’ve made a film,” Shoshanna says, turning to Aldo. “And we need Hans Landa to see it.”

Aldo nods as though he understands. Marcel leans forward, grinning a little.

“We’ve also got sixteen roman candles,” he says, barely able to contain his excitement.

And all the Kavod scouts cheer.

 


End file.
